days and nights
by XsilverXdoeX
Summary: Bellatrix's thoughts during her time is Azkaban.  I wrote it as she is becoming crazy & so nothing is capitalized but things that she would see as important.  Was almost a songfic, but I decided against it.  not a Voldatrix, but not against it either.


days and nights

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the nights in azkaban are cold, but so are the days. it is always cold here with the Dementors sweeping by. i dont know if it is summer or winter for frost always hangs tangibly in the air. i do not know if it is night or day for even if the sun shines, when its rays hit this prison, they seem to shrink and die, like all who dwell here. all the forsaken souls, the prisoners, here to endure the cold until they are fortunate enough to die. they are weak. they wait for Death, long for Death, hope against hope for Death. i do not want Death coming to visit me, i must survive. i do not fear Death, though, never _fear_ it. how can a warrior fear their own weapon?

you may say i am no longer a warrior. i have been captured and caged. my wand was taken from me and my power diminishes, like everything taken into this horrid place diminishes. the war is won, or for me lost, you say? my Lord has fallen?

that is where you are mistaken. Lord Voldemort has not fallen. he shall never fall. he is never gone, Voldemort lives still. you say he is gone, that i am wrong, that my Master is no more. you say the potter boy is your savior, that he destroyed the Dark Lord. you are more mistaken than you know. Lord Voldemort goes on. one day he will return and he will be greater than ever he was before! he will return and all the world will cower before him and grovel at his feet. and the first to go will be damned harry potter, and how my Lord's followers will rejoice and revel when potter is no more. some will not see the day potter pays for what he did to my Master. some will be punished for their deeds after my Lord's departure. but i am to be rewarded. i will be among the most honored Death Eaters, for i have been true to my Lord and Master. he will recognize my loyalty. he will see what i have sacrificed and see what i have endured and i will be rewarded most lavishly for my valor.

like all in this wretched sea, on this wretched island, in this wretched fortress of a prison, my cell is dark, cold and it stinks of Death and Regret. the stench of human Regret is sour, so dreadful it makes me wretch. i came not to azkaban with Regret, like so many of my fellows. even now, i remain proud of my actions. my Lord Voldemort's cause is right and any who Regret helping it shall feel his wrath when he returns.

i think it is nighttime, but only because i cannot see my hands before my face. not even the slightest light penetrates into the tomblike darkness of my cell. how many years have passed since i was locked inside? i do not know...it may be one or it may be many. where did my Master go? why did my Master vanish? why has he still not returned? i do not know. i know he is not gone, though, and i know he will be back. i feel him. i feel his wonderful presence even here in the frigid darkness. it is as if my fingertips could touch his robe if i stretched my hand out far enough, but my arm is mere inches too short.

he will be back. Lord Voldemort will be back. and when the day of his return comes, i will be repaid, unlike those fools that ran away and fled the ministry or the others who lied and forced tears all in the name of Regret.

but not only those on our side have Regrets. my dear, traitorous cousin, sirius, i saw his cell when i was brought to this place. he sat in the darkest corner, clutching his knees to his chest. he was very handsome before, but no more. he had been brought in within weeks of myself, but azkaban was working on him already. his hair was once sleek but was growing matted and filthy. his skin was once like ivory but was growing dirty and ill. he once smirked with each inhale and laughed with each exhale but no more. sirius' dark eyes once glittered but now they were dull and sunken, always tearful and solemn, hiding in their depths the sincerest Regret. he blames himself. he blames himself that his friends are dead. he blames that cowardly fool, wormtail, but he blames himself still more. he is too far lost to ever survive this place, perhaps he has died already.

every day and every night there is screaming and weeping. dear old sirius the gryffindor has Regrets as well, i am sure, Regrets that well up inside his weakening body until he cannot bear it and screams them or cries them until he cannot any longer. every day and every night there is screaming and weeping, indeed.

everyone here goes mad. i suppose i am going mad, but not like them. they go mad from being locked in a cell. they go mad from the stench of Death and Regret. they go mad from their own Regret. they go mad from hearing the screeching and wailing that rend the world to pieces.

so, i am better off than them. i dont so much mind being in this cell, or the cold or the Dementors, for it is all in the name of my Lord. the rancid odors were maddening when first i came here, but now they are as much a part of life as once were bathing, dressing and making sure my wand was always accessible. i have no Regret to drive me mad. and the screaming and the crying could never bother me; the crime that landed me here in azkaban was torturing alice and frank longbottom into insanity! i was always immune to such things, except when cissy used to cry as an infant. she really was the only person i ever cared for; her crying could've driven me mad if that was what i was hearing, but the screaming of strangers? i think not!

as if caused by my contemplation, a voice breaks the silence that so rarely settles over azkaban. so sirius is not dead...the voice that i hear is raspy, not that of the sirius i knew in my youth, but who else here would be apologizing to lily and james potter for their failure? it goes on for a long time...i would say hours but time does not exist here. he screams so many things. his thoughts are feebly linked and rather incoherent. one moment he is cursing my aunt and regulus, the only worthwhile person my aunt produced. next he is damning wormtail and begging again for forgiveness. then he reminisces about times at hogwarts and again he is wailing about the potters. when he finally breaks into sobs and grows quieter, i am grateful. his survival is no comfort to me; if he would just die i would say good riddance. yet, for some reason it is still hard for me to hear his anguished cries of torment as he, like the others, falls into insanity. perhaps it is only because we came from the same roots and so it must be just as easy for me to lose my sanity as well.

wormtail is a fool, but he outsmarted my cousin. who knows where he is now, hiding as a rat, i'm sure. he cannot hide as a man for the entire wizarding world knows him as one of the men sirius black killed.

it is so dark in my cell that i am not even sure my eyes are opened. someone else is screaming now but it is not in a language i recognize. it may not be a proper language at all.

i know a Dementor is passing by because the world grows still colder and the air feels thick and drawing breath is like inhaling water. i hear shuddering and weeping and cries as it passes through and when it is gone the difference is slight. i can breathe again, but that is no privilege. when will my Master return? he will, oh, he will, but when? i will wait as long as it takes, but i would wish him return sooner rather than later, obviously.

he cannot be rushed. he is trying. he is on his way. Lord Voldemort will be back. i know he is still here, it is a matter of where. it is a matter of why and why not. oh, i can feel him. something binds me to this world and it is him. one day, one day he will be back and he will call his Death Eaters to him and i will be among them. no...i will not be among them, i will be here, listening to the screaming and living in the cold of the Dementors. but he will know and he will free me and he will reward me and he will know...yes, my Master will know as he always knows, who has been true to him and who has not. he will be unmerciful. many who live comfortably now, hiding their left arms and pretending they were never tied to Voldemort in any way, will gain the Regret that hangs so heavily over azkaban. they will Regret their lies, their betrayal. but i need not fear, for i have been true.

a voice i recognize cries among the usual moaning and screaming, 'the Dark Lord Voldemort lives on!' all of azkaban seems to shudder at his name, as so many witches and wizards do. it must be one of my fellows, perhaps even my husband, i do not recall. i can no longer remember the face that had that voice, but it does not matter. i am not the only true follower my Lord has here in azkaban...no, there are many. when he returns, he will be farther than he was last time in the beginning.

it is so cold here. i have never been so cold in my life, i am sure of it. so many people die here. Death has never been my greatest fear, for it must be my fate in the end. so many people are afraid of Death, on both sides of this war, but it is so commonplace it should frighten them no more than a blade of grass or a stocking. people call Death a great mystery, but it is not one. everyone lives and eventually dies, that is the answer. it is not a mystery, just the last part of life, the period at the end of the sentence. the only living thing that does not end with its death is the phoenix and i will be damned if i sit in my cell in azkaban and ponder about a bird that bursts into flame. of course, that is not what the phoenix is to me. the phoenix is the order of the phoenix, those fools that opposed my Lord and my fellows and me.

the order of the phoenix would have lost, though, if it had not been for that damned potter boy. how did it happen? how could an infant get in the way of the most powerful wizard that ever lived and breathed? why was it that my Lord was stopped by the most powerless opponent that he ever had? a baby, a child! how did it happen? i, like everyone else, wanted to know how harry potter had done it. some worshipped him, some, like me, loathed him.

the screaming will go on, i know. the Dementors will continue to glide past my cell, bringing with them chill and misery. others will give in to their pain and die, sirius, rodulphus, any number of people i know. more will be thrown in. and all the while, people will go on believing my Master is gone, but they know not the error of their ways. they think it is over, but even now, he is gaining his strength and like a venomous snake hiding in the grass, he can strike at any moment and my Lord strikes to kill. the days will be followed by nights and vice versa and i will not know the difference because in azkaban night and day are the same.

although i will not know how many days and nights pass, they will still do so, and when they have--when they have at last--my Lord, my Master, the greatest wizard of all time, the Dark Lord Voldemort will return. and next time, we will strike to kill. and next time we will triumph.

yet until then, i must bear the unbearable world that is my one black tiny cell, the identical days and nights, the slowly passing seasons, the screaming, the crying, the Dementors and the bitter, relentless cold of azkaban.

--

End

(a/n: I know that this is sort of incoherent, vague and that it is poorly punctuated, but that is because Bellatrix is becoming even more deranged with each 'identical day and night' that passes by. I decided only to capitalize important words, which to Bellatrix, are anything referring to Voldemort, Death, Death Eater and Regret. In my mind, this takes place during SS/PS or before. This song was inspired by the lyrics of 'Somewhere Out There' by Steve Earle, and was originally gonna be a songfiction, but the lyrics kind of took away from the effect, look up the lyrics, they'd make a great Voldatrix songfic. Please review, it makes me smile, which I need after writing something as dark as this!)


End file.
